In the Pipeline
by roses and hello
Summary: Tired of her father interfering in her love life, Rose decides to take matters into her own hands. Inviting Scorpius Malfoy to her cousin's wedding might not have been the wisest solution...


Many thanks and much appreciation to Lisa who suffered through this fic literally from beginning to end, and Kyp for being super helpful as ever.

* * *

Either way you look at it, it starts with a leak.

" _Finite Incantatem!_ " Rose cries, pointing her wand at her faulty tap. This has the undesired effect of removing her stoppage spell, causing the water to flow with renewed vigour. Great.

She doesn't have time to investigate the leak further; she is running late and should definitely not have wasted time attempting to fix the unfixable. It's just that the thing she is running late for is dinner with her father, and it would have been gratifying to appear as though she had her life together to some degree.

Rose will have to hope that their mystery dining companion distracts Ron enough so that he forgets to enquire about the leak. It's a small chance, since he asks about it every time they speak, even via her mother's message pad communication system.

She isn't supposed to know about the dining companion, of course; that's the second leak. Hugo is unable to keep his mouth shut at the best of times, which proves to be a blessing and curse depending on which side of the information Rose is. She stares at her reflection, wondering whether it is best to change out of her work robes.

No. She never changes for dinner with her father. She won't give him the satisfaction of pretending it's okay for him to fix her dates.

* * *

Half an hour later, and Rose is seated at her father's favourite table in the Leaky Cauldron, nervously tapping her quill against the wood. It isn't unusual for him to be running late, which is why she has brought a stack of work documents to occupy her, but she wishes she'd been able to spend the time in the quiet of her Ministry office instead. It is awfully distracting being interrupted every few moments by the owls bringing the evening news, especially when the work itself is dry and not easy to concentrate on at the best of times.

Rose's own news comes with the flash of her family's communal message pad. _Sorry, Rosie, love, but there's been an incident at work. Don't worry, dinner is on me - Colm will explain. Love you!_

Her fingers turn white around the edge of the pad. For once, she wishes that her mother hadn't opted for the easy method of communication over owl post. She would very much have liked to tear up a paper note at that point. Wiping it clean isn't anywhere near so satisfying.

Somebody pulls out the chair opposite her, and she knows even before she looks up that it's Colm Finnigan. His face is twisted in sympathy, and she puts her message down, digging her fingers into her upper thigh as she feels the anger dissipate. It is not, after all, Colm's fault that he has been substituted into her fortnightly dinner with her father.

"Incident at work?" Rose enquires, giving him a tight-lipped smile. He is not the only one of her parents' friends' progeny to have been roped into entertaining Rose since she moved out. If there's a way to prevent her father matchmaking for her, she hasn't found it yet.

"Apparently so," Colm says. It's not much of an explanation, but Rose is up to her ears in her own work and is perfectly happy not to discuss somebody else's. Instead, he dangles a small bag in front of her. Its contents clink together as it swings. Her father's bribe money. "Firewhiskey?"

"Ogden's Finest," she agrees, glancing down at the pad which now reads, _Did you decide on coming home for the weekend yet? We can always come to you! Maybe have a look at that tap?_

She flips the pad over, assigning her father's words to the polished tabletop.

"Grand." Colm gets back to his feet. "I'll go put an order in. Looks like there are some of our old year-mates at the bar - would you mind if I invite them to crash our date?"

Rose smiles, leaning forward to try and glimpse any friendly faces. It's been a while since she has done much outside of work. An evening without paperwork might be what she needs, regardless of her father's schemes. "Be my guest." She pauses, catching a familiar eye. And that's when the plan is born.

* * *

The thing is, Cousin Molly is getting married.

Cousin Molly is a year older than Rose, and they were even close at one point, but then Rose was sorted into Gryffindor like her parents, and not Ravenclaw like Molly had hoped (everybody else was too stunned by Albus being sorted into Slytherin to pay much attention to where Rose went). So, at the respective ages of 11 and 12, they drifted apart.

That doesn't mean that Rose isn't happy about Molly's big day, but it does make her a little more introspective. The worldly Dominique tells Rose that weddings (as well as funerals and birthdays) have a habit of making one evaluate their life choices.

Or, in Dominique's case, it makes her evaluate Rose's life choices.

"If you refuse to live somewhere that doesn't stink of mould, at least get a decent mirror," Dominique complains, casting another _Lumos_ charm to brighten the room. It serves to highlight the crack running along the ceiling, and Rose's various piles of paperwork, which are waiting for her to be done with the celebrations.

"You could always have stayed with your parents," Rose returns, twirling a curl around her finger. Dominique raises her eyebrows, but makes no further protest, having been driven out of Shell Cottage by the wails of a young niece. "Merlin, I almost wish I'd taken Dad up on his offer of new robes - I'd forgotten these flared at the elbow."

Dominique tuts, her own reflection forgotten as she turns to Rose. "You're cutting off your nose to spite your face, you know. This place is shit. Really, really shit. There's no need for you to live here, or dress like you're a pauper from the seventies." She picks her wand up. "Hold your arm out - _this_ is why you invited me here, isn't it? All that rubbish about how you miss me when you're after my tailoring skills. You're lucky I know I wouldn't see your face outside the Ministry if it weren't for this wedding."

Rose bites back a smile and extends her arm as directed. "I can't afford anywhere better right now, Minnie. I'm sure Paris wouldn't dream of harbouring a place like this, but-"

Dominique swats Rose with the wand. "Oh, shut up. You could fit my flat into here twice over. I just know that Aunty Hermione would fix that damned tap in a minute, and you're too proud to let her. Honestly, look at these patterns. Take those off - you are ridiculous. Fortunately, I already knew this, and I packed a spare."

It's nothing she hasn't heard before. Rose strips off her dress robes. The tap is a sticking point. At first, she wanted to prove that she was capable of living by herself, and of fixing her own problems. Six months on, none of the spells she's tried last any length of time, and she _could_ use some help. Asking for it is a different matter. Her father, if he knew the right spell, would fix it in an instant. Her mother is waiting for her to ask. She can't bring herself to. There's never been a problem she couldn't solve before, and running to her parents would feel like regression. She isn't a _child_.

Dominique hasn't revealed her own dress robes yet, and apprehension tightens Rose's chest as her cousin unzips her bag. Whilst Dominique's style might be fashionable in France, Rose is still not over the stage where Dominique dressed in paisley from head-to-toe. Luckily, that stage appears to have concluded, and the blue dress robes thrown at Rose are both tasteful and current (so far as Rose can tell, anyway), with only a little lace.

"If you're going to be passed around to every boy your father has ever met, at least you won't be bringing sartorial shame on the family in the process," Dominique says with not a small amount of satisfaction as Rose tugs on the robes.

"Actually," Rose says, pulling her hair free, "I've sort of done something about that."

* * *

The Malfoy estate isn't far from Ottery St Catchpole, and although Dominique takes some persuading, they still arrive on time.

"You should practise your landings," Dominique hisses, releasing Rose's elbow. "I could have lost my shoe."

"You were welcome to Apparate straight to the Burrow," Rose returns, massaging her joint - still attached despite Dominique's best efforts. She is soon distracted; Scorpius is already there, leaning against the gate. Apprehension curdles in Rose's stomach. This is definitely not one of her better plans.

Dominique snorts, running a careful hand over her hairstyle, checking it is undisturbed. "Please. Like I'm going to miss a second of this."

Scorpius looks good, effortlessly stylish in his green dress robes, and it registers as a problem in Rose's mind, though she isn't quite sure why. He smiles warmly and extends his hand to Dominique. "I don't think we've met. I'm Scorpius Malfoy."

"The gates kind of give it away," Dominique says dryly, letting her eyes linger over the wrought iron bars. The 'M' emblem is prominent even with the heir standing in front of it. Her comment would have been rude coming from anybody else - well, it is rude - but she covers it up with a smile of her own, taking his hand in hers. "I'm Dominique. I hope you don't mind me intruding, but I like to keep an eye on my baby cousin." Rose starts at this, having been staring down the drive. Disappointingly, there is no sign of the house at the end (or of the end of the drive itself, for that matter); evidently the Malfoys' wealth is extensive. She quails at the thought of bringing Scorpius to the Burrow, and then shakes it off. There isn't anything about a giant pair of gates and a pathway of indeterminate length that would make her trade one brick from the Burrow.

"I understand," Scorpius answers gallantly. "Sorry to meet you outside - I thought it might be easier to get going rather than to subject you to my family. If you did want to come inside, I'm sure my mother has my baby albums at the ready."

That's it - Dominique is won over. Rose can tell by the way her eyes crinkle in a full smile. Nonsense, really. They both know why Scorpius met them outside the gates, and it's got more to do with the protections on Malfoy Manor than any other kinds of manners. "It's best if we get going. Nana will send out a search party for us otherwise. I'm sure if you ask her nicely, you can see Rose's baby pictures."

Scorpius grins, but it dampens when he looks at Rose. "Is there something the matter?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. "It occurred to me I should have asked what you were wearing, but... we don't clash or anything, right?" His last entreaty is directed at Dominique, along with a disclaimer that _of course_ he couldn't hope to have her natural good fashion sense.

"You clean up fine," Rose cuts in, beginning to feel like she is the third wheel instead of Dominique. In fact, Scorpius looking immaculate is pretty much the issue. He is smart, inoffensive, charming without being obsequious. Thank Merlin he's also a Malfoy on top of that, or her father might actually approve the match. "Sorry. I think we should make a move, that's all. Are you okay with Side-Along? I could fashion a Portkey..."

"Side-Along is fine," Scorpius agrees, reaching for her hand. She jolts, and then mentally chastises herself. Of course they need to touch for Side-Along Apparition.

Her last impression of Malfoy Manor is Dominique laughing at her.

* * *

Weasley gatherings are Notable Affairs, however much certain members of her family might dislike that fact. Cousin Molly's wedding is no exception, particularly since Uncle Percy makes no secret of the fact that he's aiming for Minister for Magic. All Weasleys are therefore entreated to be on their best behaviour (even Uncle George), and Rose feels a pang of guilt, but it's too late to call things off now. Hopefully, the explosion will be quiet and discreet.

Rose thinks that her father is probably right, and Uncle Percy would rather have held the ceremony somewhere rather... smarter, but Molly is close with her grandmother, and wouldn't consider anywhere else. They arrive in the midst of chaos, as planned, and Rose keeps Scorpius as far away from the hubbub as she can contrive.

"I'd have thought you'd have been a bridesmaid," Scorpius whispers; they are pressed against the side of the house to avoid being roped into last minute tasks by Rose's formidable Aunt Audrey. "Being a cousin and all."

"Molly wanted only her sister Lucy," Rose explains, copying his hushed tones. "She's got seven female cousins; we'd make quite the procession down the aisle. It'd be half an hour before they could start the ceremony."

He huffs out a laugh, but when she turns to look at him, his eyes are serious. "Thanks for inviting me, Rose. I've been out of the country so long - I seem to only spend time with my family or other Curse Breakers these days."

Curse Breaker. Right. She'd forgotten what he did. Awkwardly, she looks away, focusing on what she's reasonably sure is a gnome creeping over the back fence. "You're going to regret saying that in about half an hour. An hour, tops."

"Somehow I doubt that."

She's saved from having to respond by Audrey's booming tones requesting that everybody take their seats. Or, maybe 'saved' is the wrong word; she finds Scorpius's warm fingers threaded through hers again, and his smile in her direction. Her stomach flip-flops through either nerves or guilt, and she bites down on the inside of her cheek, trying to steady herself. Deep breaths.

Rose is never going to survive this wedding.

* * *

To her surprise, she makes it through the ceremony. She fixes her attention on the bride, convinced that if she wavers, she will catch the eye of an excitable extended family member, and be forced to explain Scorpius's presence through the medium of mime.

The problem is that Scorpius keeps distracting her. Not on purpose - or, at least, probably not on purpose. He shifts in his seat, reminding her of his proximity (as if she could forget). He clears his throat, and she forgets to listen to Ben's vows. It is some form of torture.

The officiant is speaking, but Scorpius hooks his feet together, and the flat of his shoe presses lightly against her ankle. Should she move it? Would that make it more awkward?

As the thought enters her head, the tent erupts in applause for Molly and Ben.

Rose has essentially missed her cousin's special moment through the power of internal angst. Great.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes has come up trumps as usual with the fireworks, and mini explosions spell out 'Molly & Ben' in the air. The ensuing smoke drives everybody outside, a tactic often employed by Uncle George as a method of vacating the tent so its interior could be changed. Unfortunately, she neglects to forewarn Scorpius, and the melee causes her to lose track of him. Secretly, she is grateful for the reprieve. He is treating this as though he were actually invited, with all the care and attention that Rose could have wanted, were this a legitimate date. It isn't; it's a last ditch attempt at teenage rebellion, only, Rose is in her twenties and living on her own.

She chooses a space up against the wall of the Burrow again, finding the old house comforting at her back. This is a disaster.

"Rosie Posie?"

Nothing she can do about it now.

She steps into her father's embrace, wondering why she has brought a Malfoy into their midst.

"You look beautiful," Ron says warmly, but he would say that if she'd turned up in last year's dress robes. Or in a sack. "Sorry I couldn't make dinner the other night. Colm said you guys had a good time without me, though."

Rose grits her teeth, purpose flooding her once more. "It was fine, thanks, Dad. I actually spent most of the evening with Scorpius - I invited him here today, actually. He should be around somewhere." She makes a show of looking around, and then actually catches sight of Scorpius headed their way. Oh well. Might as well get it all done with at once.

Sometimes, her father surprises her. Watching him greet Scorpius Malfoy ( _Scorpius Malfoy_ ) with every sign that they are well acquainted probably tops the list.

"Scorpius! Colm told me you were back in the country - I didn't expect to see you so soon, of course."

Scorpius transfers one of the drinks he is holding to Rose, allowing him to shake her father's hand. "It didn't take us that long to clean up your mess, sir - Ron," he corrects, as _Please, Call Me Ron_ grins back at him.

"Oh, you CBs are all the same," Ron says airily, "you'd be well suited to a life as a housewife in another world - don't look like that, Rosie, I didn't mean any offence."

It is perhaps to Ron's good fortune that Rose (nor any other of his immediate family) is not listening. Rather, she feels as though she might have stepped into an alternate universe, one where her father doesn't curse Draco Malfoy at every given opportunity.

"Rosie?"

They are both looking at her now, but all Rose can see is her careful crafted act of defiance crumpling before her, the mild intended threat of 'you won't like the results of interfering in my life' dissolving. "I think Uncle Harry is looking for you," she says instead, taking the coward's way out. The lie does the trick; her father excuses himself and leaves.

If she is hoping that the tension might have diffused, she is out of luck. Scorpius looks thoughtful, preferring to watch the other guests rather than turn his attention to Rose. It has the effect of making Rose feel very guilty. They didn't cross paths often at Hogwarts, but he doesn't seem to have turned out rude or cocky, or indeed anything that would warrant Rose intentionally placing him in the path of so many lions.

The way Rose sees it, she has two choices from this point. She could send Scorpius home, or try to make the most of a bad situation. Besides, he knows her father professionally. It would be churlish to force him out now, all because he gets along well with her father.

Excuses made, it is time to attempt some emergency repair work.

"I didn't know you knew my father," she tries, using her free hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Where were you stationed?"

Her comment is met with unexpected disapproval; his eyebrows draw together and that pleasant glint has disappeared from his eyes. Rose experiences a very real fear that if she doesn't win him back, he will leave whether she wants him to or not. Memories of the night at the Leaky Cauldron prod at her, reminding her how charming he was. How she'd look up to find his eyes already fixed on her face, as though he were trying to memorise her expression. Now that the potential minefield has been removed, she can explore that again... if she hasn't ruined things already.

"Didn't you? I was in Turkey. Dalaman."

The Auror department occasionally takes their recruits to other countries, in order to broaden their experience. Dalaman sounds as likely as anywhere else - Rose has, she recognises, stopped taking an interest in her father's workplace. The realisation is a painful one, but thankfully, Scorpius is a pre-arranged distraction.

"I've never been to Turkey," Rose says, and she leans a little bit closer, creating a small private bubble in the midst of Weasley madness. He mimics her actions, seemingly unconsciously, and the furrow smooths from his forehead. "What's it like?"

The impression that Scorpius is interested in her (she hypothesised that he might be, having accepted the invitation without any apparent ulterior motives of his own) lights a little fire in her, which glows and warms as she listens to him describe sunken cities, rock tombs, and nights spent sleeping under the stars. Her heart twists, at the thought of how he has been living his life, and the nagging sense that she might have been missing out on experiences in pursuit of her career, wedding herself to inconsequential statistics.

Dinner is called, and his hand slips into hers, which startles her only when he collects himself and withdraws it. It leaves her feeling oddly lopsided, somehow, and she winds up clutching her glass with both hands to give them something to do.

Despite the last minute arrangements, Molly (thank goodness for Molly) has seated them next to one another, and Rose tries not to giggle through Percy's speech as Scorpius asks her if she thinks her uncle is trying to sabotage the wedding night by putting everybody in a coma. She places a surreptitious hand on his knee, and he covers it with his own.

She is, despite herself, enjoying the evening. The wedding is a more casual, easy affair than she had anticipated. Courses meld together, the result of an engaging conversation rather than any lack of quality in the dishes, but also, she supposes, a testament to her cousin's organisational skills.

The announcement of the first dance comes as a surprise, whilst Scorpius is entertaining Rose with a tale of Curse Breaker initiation rites (she isn't _quite_ sure what she thinks of all the naked swimming). The tent is magical, hundreds of little lights glowing overhead, and Molly and Ben illuminated in the centre of the floor.

"This is always my favourite part of a wedding," Scorpius murmurs, standing close enough to Rose that their arms brush together.

"Having a ringside seat to watch toes be trodden down?" Rose asks, and is rewarded by his snicker. As it happens, Molly and Ben don't tread on one another, but that has less to do with any dancing proficiency, and more to do with the fact that they are practically stationary throughout the Spellbound classic.

The next song begins - one of her mother's favourites - and Scorpius turns to face Rose.

"If I promise not to tread on _your_ toes, will you dance with me?"

A thrill runs through her as she realises that for once, she won't be dancing with one of her cousins, or somebody who has been bribed or coerced into it. "I'm making no such promise," she warns as he grins and leads her out. "I fully intend on demonstrating the grace of a small elephant as recompense for you taking the last of the fig tarts."

"I was saving you," he protests, raising his arm to twirl her underneath. "It would have put you off fig tarts forever. Think of all that future enjoyment I've gifted you."

She laughs, and misses his outstretched hand, crashing back into him. Hopefully, he will chalk it up to the promised revenge.

Apparently, there is no fooling Scorpius, and he treats her with rather more care in the next dance. The music starts to blur together, and Rose even suffers through Celestina Warbeck to keep the moment alive a little longer. She can't remember the last time she relaxed like this - the last time she wasn't concerned with _some_ rule or regulation. Her cheeks ache from smiling, and her shoes are starting to rub, but they are the bearable sorts of pain.

Of course, a tap ruins everything.

The trouble with leaks is that they have a habit of spreading even (especially?) if you're not paying attention. Rose turns at the touch on her shoulder, and finds Hugo standing behind her.

"Mum and Dad have gone home," he says, one hand full of a slice of cake. "Thought I'd tell you, so you can stop all your, you know, pretending."

The world stands still as Scorpius removes his arm from where he'd slung it round Rose's shoulders. "I'm sorry - I don't know. What pretending?" His voice is strong and terribly, terribly clear.

Hugo doesn't get it. He's never been the most emotionally sensitive boy, and thinks he's helping, even as he delivers the killer blow. "Oh, don't worry. Dominique told me about your little set up for Dad. Don't think it worked, but anyway, no point continuing it now he's gone. Unless you want to, obviously."

Scorpius's eyes are cold as they meet Rose's. "No; I think we're done here. Thanks, Hugo."

"Anytime," Hugo says cheerfully, and wanders off.

Rose's voice is caught somewhere in her throat, but she doesn't think it would have mattered anyway as Scorpius vanishes without another word.

* * *

Rose acts fast the following day to plead her case, writing out streams of parchment. She sends her owl, Perdita, to Malfoy Manor, and the owl returns with the letter shredded and tied with a little grey bow.

Scorpius isn't the only problem she needs to deal with, though. After careful consideration, she invites her father to dinner at the Leaky Cauldron.

"I need you to stop contriving dates for me," she says as he sits down.

Ron looks aghast. " _Dates_? Rosie, there's plenty of time for dating later."

Rose frowns at him; this is not going according to the conversation she wrote out earlier, in which she persuaded him that she was perfectly happy on her own, whether this Scorpius thing works out or not. "Dad, you've been fixing me up with your friends' children for months."

He chokes on his Butterbeer. "Merlin's pants, Rosie - are you talking about Finnigan? Those aren't _dates_. Rosie, I'm not - Rosie, I thought-" His cheeks flush with colour, and he averts his eyes. This is more akin to the reaction she thought he'd have, and she relaxes accordingly. "Sweetheart, I worry about you getting lonely. You've spent more time with paperwork than people over the last year or so. I thought you could do with some company."

Suddenly, she doesn't know whether she's more embarrassed that her father is concerned for her social life, rather than her romantic life.

"I didn't mean anything more than that," he continues. "Most of my friends have sons. Er... You didn't - _you know_ \- did you?" His eyes widen, trying his best not to say the words out loud.

This is definitely more embarrassing. Possibly the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to her.

" _Dad_ ," she hisses, kicking him under the table.

"Right, right. I don't want to know." Ron's eyes soften, and he reaches for her hand. "I know I'm a meddler; I want to see you happy, that's all. You're pouring an awful lot into a job you don't seem to like all that much."

The truth does hurt, as it turns out, and Rose fixes her eyes on the table. She feels winded and tearful at once. He's right, of course, but it's hard to stop going down a road once you've started.

Her father's other hand covers hers as well. "Sorry, Rosie. If I'm wrong, you can tell me to be quiet. You can tell me anyway, if you want."

Rose can't say anything right then, overwhelmed by both affection and the enormity of life choices.

He seems to understand, taking a sip of his Butterbeer as he lets her compose herself. Then, he ruins it all by saying, "I like Scorpius, you know. Are you still seeing him?"

"No, Dad," she answers, propping her chin up with her hand. "He's a sensitive sort - took offence to Hugo telling him that I'd only invited him to get at you."

Ron's mouth hangs open for a few seconds before he collects himself. "Right. Well, that's understandable, I suppose." He drums his fingers on the table, and Rose shifts awkwardly in her seat. He doesn't appear to be upset, but sometimes it's hard to tell. It's only when he speaks again that she can be sure. "If I promise not to badger you into having friends, will you at least consider another career?"

She nods vigorously, on the verge of tears again.

* * *

It's not long before Rose discovers that her father absolutely did not stick to his promise. The discovery comes whilst she is surrounded by career leaflets, keeping up her side of the bargain. Of course, when she confronts him about it, he will probably disclaim that she gave him the idea of matchmaking in the first place.

Scorpius is on her doorstep, looking as though it is the last place he'd like to be. Now she has asked Ron about him under the transparent guise of enquiring about curse breakers, she realises he has been in some very unpleasant places indeed.

"Your father said you had some problems with plumbing."

Rose stares at him, wondering if this means that they have been talking about her, and whether Ron refrained from bringing up that time she and Albus ate Wizarding Wheezes's entire Canary Creams stock and moulted feathers for a week.

"Are you going to let me in? Working from across the room isn't my speciality."

She steps back automatically. There are clothes piled on every surface, and where there aren't clothes, there's paperwork. The crack in the ceiling seems to widen under his critical gaze, but he doesn't linger for long; he soon locates the offending tap.

"You know your problem?"

"It's not messy, it just looks it," she says defensively, crossing her arms across her chest. "I still know where everything is."

"... Poltergeist," Scorpius says instead, raising an eyebrow at her. "You can tell, there's a distortion around the sink."

Oh.

"Okay," Rose agrees, stooping to examine the parts of the pipe he is pointing out. Poltergeist. Stupid, stupid. She has gone through tomes of magical and Muggle plumbing, tried her best to figure out if it's a curse or a fault of the pipe itself, and it's a poltergeist. Worse, Scorpius only took a few minutes to gauge the real cause.

Scorpius takes his wand out of his back pocket, and, to Rose's surprise, there's a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Don't look so upset. You used to beat me all the time in school."

"I used to beat _everyone_ all the time," Rose corrects; she can't stop herself. It works, for some reason; the smirk becomes a full-blown smile, even if he is shaking his head.

"I think the best thing to do would be to stop feeding it all the spells under the sun," Scorpius continues, crouching back down. "It's not the easiest thing to expel a poltergeist, and I can't tell how long it's been here. You'd be better off getting your mother in. I wouldn't want to entrench it further. It's probably also simulating that crack in the ceiling, too - that looks off to me."

It lodges a weight from her shoulders, the thought that things really _aren't_ as bad as they look, and it encourages her to begin, "Look, Scorpius..."

"Don't worry about it."

For a second, she is tempted to listen, but he deserves an apology at the very least. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you into my mess."

"Well. I did knock on the door."

Rose experiences a brief moment of confusion, and then she sees him gesture to her stacks of clothes. "I'd have cleaned up if I'd known you were coming," she protests, unable to help herself despite knowing he is teasing her.

It prompts a grin from him, and he gets to his feet, sticking his wand back in his pocket. "It's okay, Rose. Your dad explained. I shouldn't have returned your letter like that; I was angry. I felt foolish, if I'm honest."

Her arms swing uselessly by her sides - she wants to hug him, reassure him, but knows she also has to earn that right. In the meantime, "Can I get you a cup of tea?"

Scorpius tilts his head on one side, and she has the sense that she is being measured, but it is fleeting, because he is saying, "Yes," before she has time to squirm.

"I didn't mean to make you feel foolish," she continues, retrieving the kettle from under a set of books on goblin regulations. Setting it up at least preoccupies her somewhat, and she can aim for nonchalant as she says, "If it helps, I thought my father was trying to set me up on dates, when really, he was trying to make sure I had friends."

"That's what you're going with as a comparison?" Scorpius enquires, shifting a set of blouses so he can sit up on the counter. She has to reach around him to fill the mugs with hot water, but finds she doesn't mind. "I thought at least you'd tell me about the time you cried because your parents wouldn't let you eat Pepper Imps for every meal."

"I'm so glad you get on well with my father," Rose says through gritted teeth, fishing the teabags out with a spoon.

Scorpius jumps down and takes the carton of milk from her, letting their hands brush in a way that might be accidental. She's pretty sure it isn't, though, pretty sure that Scorpius's every move is carefully controlled. "Sorry, do you mind if I do my own? I've got used to black tea, and am trying to ease my way back into old habits, but it's a slow process. I stopped him, you know. Your father. I figured you might want to tell me about stealing Harry Potter's invisibility cloak yourself."

Her mouth quirks up in a smile. "I was four. They couldn't find the post for hours."

He places a cooling charm on his drink, and clinks their mugs together. "I used to be so reluctant to go to bed that I'd make all the clocks run backwards."

"I think I'm in the wrong job," Rose blurts out.

Scorpius very deliberately does not look around her living space, or laugh it off as a joke. Instead, he matches it. "I came back because they thought my grandma was going to die. It's been four months now, she's stable, and I - I want to leave again."

"Right away?" She focuses her attention on her tea, but discovers Scorpius has set his own down, and she passes her own over without argument.

"Maybe not this minute," he agrees.

It's easy, then, to raise her eyes - harder to hold his gaze.

"Your father says this doesn't count as interfering," he says conversationally, somehow keeping his tone light. Rose feels as though she might melt into a puddle any moment. "He also says it doesn't matter if he thinks my father's a prat."

"I'm so glad we're still talking about my father."

"You brought him into this," Scorpius reminds her, and there's a mischievous note to his voice now.

Well, a large family has gifted her with endless patience, if that's what he's after. "My tea is getting cold," she murmurs, reaching for the cup again.

He takes her hand in his, and her stomach drops pleasantly. "I'll make you another cup. Show you how to do it properly, next time."

She contemplates engaging in banter, but lets the comment go in favour of stepping into Scorpius's space. She is reasonably sure this is what he wants, but allows him the opportunity to move back. When he doesn't take it, she swallows hard, her hand slipping up his chest and entwining in the collar of his Muggle shirt. His heart races under the heel of her palm. "Last chance to back out," she says, either to herself or to him.

Either way, he kisses her.

Rose's first thought is that she hasn't kissed anyone in a long time, but her second is that Scorpius is _good_ at this. There is exactly the right amount of pressure, firm but not unyielding. He pulls back as she's beginning to feel light-headed, and plants two chaste kisses on her lips, and then sits her on the counter-top.

"Don't want to get a crick in my neck," he explains, brushing the tips of their noses together.

"You taste like tea," she says, a little dazed.

"How unexpected," he smirks, leaning back in for more.

* * *

Scorpius settles in London shortly after that (his father objects to paying for a room at the Leaky Cauldron when, to all accounts, the boy never even stays there), and around the same time, the poltergeist moves on. Scorpius likes to say it's his influence, but Rose thinks it has rather more to do with her mother's clever spell-casting. Hermione reassures her that the poltergeist will be released somewhere far more appealing than Rose's small flat, but Rose has other things on her mind.

Such as being unemployed. To be honest, she isn't even really thinking of that.

Scorpius takes a sabbatical, and they disappear on a tour of Europe for a month. It's as she is sitting in a Muggle bar on the edge of a cliff in Dubrovnik, watching Scorpius dive into the water, that she realises she doesn't want it to end.

"You look pensive," he tells her as he returns, deliberately dripping water over her dress. Sometimes, he is as bad as the poltergeist; she has merely traded mischievous spirits.

She shades her eyes with her hand, looking up at him. "I was thinking of becoming the next Celestina Warbeck."

"Celestina is an angel, and I'll thank you not to try and replace her. I'd try for her choir. I've heard you in the shower; you could definitely pass for a banshee."

Rose pulls a face at him, but the temptation to laugh is too much. "I still don't know what I want to do," she sighs, stabbing at the bottom of her drink with the straw. It is starting to overshadow the trip; the thought of returning home still clueless.

He laces his fingers through hers, and presses a kiss to her knuckle. "Come back to Turkey with me. I need to spend some time there anyway, and I'd love to show you around. The office can make use of you whilst you figure things out."

She doesn't take much persuading.

(Whatever way you look at it, it all ends with a kiss - here, or in Turkey, or years later in London)


End file.
